Cross Stroke

by Elizabeth Hartey

  Having seen that look before, the first time rock god gazed at me, I’m not surprised or bothered by the way I’m imagining the jackass swallowing me with his eyes right now. I know it means nothing. What does bother me is his panty melting body in full view, which I, on the other hand, am more than attracted to. My legs are starting to feel rubbery underneath me. Bambi might be the right name for me after all.

  “Maybe you need glasses, Bambi.” The jackass smirks. “You can’t see the big things right in front of you.”

  “My eyes are fine. For instance, I don’t see anything big in front of me at the moment.” I glance down at the Thor-size hammer between his legs.

  What? I’m certainly not going to tell him he’s been blessed by the gods.

  He finally decides to wrap his towel around his miraculous…waist. Doesn’t help though. I’m still aware of the perfect V of his oblique muscles pointing the way to wonderland.

  “Never had any complaints before.” He grins. “And I was referring to the big black letters on the door of the locker room.”

  “I came in to change my clothes.” I flip my hair back in a perfect ‘fuck off’ maneuver.

  “I can see that, Bambi.” He arches a brow while taking one more long survey up and down my body. “But this,” he points one finger from side to side, “is the boys’ locker room, and unless you want to start a riot, I suggest you get out of here before the hockey team gets off the ice.”

  “Precisely what I was trying to do before you decided to parade yourself out here.” I give it my best nonchalant tone. Jesus H. Christ. Another asshole athlete.

  “Parading? I’ll say it again, this is the men’s locker room. Therefore, I’d say you and your lacy red undies are the ones doing the parading.” He glances up at the clock on the wall. “And in about fifteen minutes the parade is going to turn into a stampede when the guys get a look at the way you fill that red lace.” He flashes me another hormone-inducing grin.

  I glance down at myself and realize my see-through undergarments are leaving nothing to the imagination. Once again, the warm blush creeping up my skin is causing my face to flame to what must be panty-matching red shades. I scramble to pull on my shorts and tank top. The pompous ass doesn’t even bother to turn his head. He just stands there with that stupid hot grin on his annoying gorgeous face.

  “Later, Bambi,” he finally says and turns and walks away with the outline of his tight ass taunting me.

  “Not if I can help it, jackass,” I mutter, slip on a pair of flip-flops, grab my bag, and run from the equator-level heat of the locker room.

  ***

  Dak

  Holy shit! This girl may kill me. I get that she may be new and it’s possible she didn’t realize this was the guy’s locker room, although it does state Men’s Locker Room in big black letters on the door. But who wears sheer red lace lingerie under their skating clothes? Nobody wears it the way she does, that’s for sure. I don’t even know her; only saw her a handful of minutes ago and she’s got me sweating and trembling like a thirteen-year-old virgin.

  I slip on my favorite worn jeans, and the thought of the imminent danger zone known to me as Bambi floods my thoughts and other areas. Fuck. Her body! Yes. Exactly what I’d like to do to that body. And she seemed to be more than interested in my…in me.

  I tried to give her a nice long look, but when I got a glimpse of her perfect tits wrapped in red, it was like Christmas morning for my cock. One glimpse at the sweet little package in lace and I had to pull the towel around me and think of depressing things, like the Ducks’ record last year, to dampen my dick’s enthusiastic response to the sight. I know women, and that surly chick has relationship material written all over her. Sorry. Don’t do those anymore.

  It’s taken a long time to get myself together. My life ended the day Abbey ended. Well, almost. If not for Dalt and the guys keeping me going, I might’ve crawled up into a ball and joined her. They helped me rejoin civilization. Even after three years, though, it still feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest when I think of her and the day from hell. I loved Abbey, but I can numb the pain of losing her with a never-ending line of girls looking for one night of body-scorching activities, nothing more. No entangled commitments.

  I’ve got to get home and bury myself in research. The guys will be back to the house soon and this being the first Friday night of the semester means it’s the first keg blast. There’s a couple hours to get some work done before the throngs descend on the house, then I can lose myself in some party time before I need to focus on the official start of hockey season and classes, not on some hot-tempered figure skater. Definitely skating clear of that thin ice.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tracey

  When we get to The Thirsty Whale, I find it is aptly named. Not only because everything in town is named after marine life, but because the place is covered in the obligatory fishing nets, long wooden fishing spears, and even a gigantic plaster model of Moby Dick hanging from the ceiling with his huge mouth gaped open. The brewery pub is packed. Excited college students are celebrating the end of the first week of the semester. Classes begin next week. This week moving in and boring orientation filled our time. Tonight was the perfect opportunity for a raucous, welcome back celebration.

  Alex informs me it’s happy hour, thus the happy masses. After we squeeze our way in the door, he walks right past the hostess stand. The interior of the pub is a large expanse with dark wood tables filling most of the center of the room and booths around the perimeter. A bar, constructed of the same dark wood, lines the length of one long wall. A huge board behind the bar lists the names of about fifty in-house brewed craft beers. There’s a karaoke stage in one corner and a small dance floor in front of it. The LED screens strategically placed around the room are displaying the video sans audio of various sporting events. With the noise decibel in the pub no one would be able to hear the sound on the televisions anyway.

  Alex does a quick scan around the room and waves excitedly to a stunning blonde girl waving back at him from one of the booths.

  “Over here,” he says, and takes me by the hand to lead me through the crowded room. “Hey, girl. Been waiting long?” he asks the blonde while sliding into the seat across from her and tapping the end of the bench next to him to invite me to join him.

  “Got here about a half hour ago to try to beat the crowds. Hi, I’m Nikki.” She extends a hand to me. She’s a petite girl, but she has a cool, deep voice. It’s the kind of gravelly, sultry voice I always wished I had.

  “Nikki, Trace. Trace, Nikki,” Alex introduces us before I get a chance to respond. When I extend my hand, Nikki takes it into her firm grip and gives it a vigorous shake. “Hey, Trace. You a new freshman?” She drops my hand and grabs the beer bottle in front of her and takes a big pull.

  “A graduate student. But I am new. I transferred from Delaware. Are you on the figure skating team too?” Since Nikki has the slim, muscular build of an athlete and is friends with Alex, I assume she’s a teammate.

  “Christ no.” She almost chokes on her beer. When she shakes her head the short layers of her bangs fall into her eyes. Even with the royal blue bangs, the platinum blonde hair she has pulled on top of her head in a messy bun makes her look like Tinker Bell, if Tink had slim but totally ripped arms.

  “Nikki is captain of the girls’ soccer team and high goal scorer. She wouldn’t be caught dead in figure skates.” Alex does his infamous eye roll again and motions to the waitress to order drinks.

  “Hell no I wouldn’t. Those girls put the ‘be’ in the word be-otch.” Nikki scowls.

  “Nice, Nikki. Tracey is a figure skater.” Alex tilts his head in my direction.

  The waitress shows up and interrupts the awkward moment. “What can I get you?”

  “You into IPA’s?” Alex asks. “Or you want something besides beer?”

  “Beer’s good and an IPA would be great.”

  Tequila used to be my poison of choice t
o loosen up and enjoy an evening with friends, until the way too loose evening occurred with Sean and his friend. After the devastating experience, I promised myself never to drink too much and swore off tequila for the next five lifetimes.

  I feel the familiar lump forming in my throat as I think back to that mortifying night. Swallowing hard, I push the memory back down where it belongs. I refuse to let all past crap ruin my fun with new friends. One beer with them can’t hurt.

  “You’ve got to try Another One. It’s Maine’s best IPA. And who isn’t up for another one? Right?” Alex winks at his apparent double entendre.

  “You’re such a slut,” Nikki jokes.

  “Oh right, and you’re Sister Teresa.” Alex purses his lips and flicks her off with a playful wave. “Speaking of which, how about you, Ms. Tactful? You want Another One?” He smirks at Nikki.

  Even though Nikki has one empty bottle on the table and hasn’t finished her second, she polishes off the second bottle and nods. “Absolutely.” She smacks the second empty bottle down on the table. “Always,” she drawls seductively. I love these guys already.

  “And of course, all you PYTs are twenty-one, right?” the waitress asks me, while listening to Alex and Nikki’s banter.

  “Yeah, Molly. She’s good. Trace is a new graduate student,” Alex explains.

  “Okay, Alex. I’ll take your word for it.” If Molly had asked for my ID she’d know I’m pushing twenty-two, and probably older than most of the students in the pub. My Sean-related escapades put me behind a couple of semesters while I brought myself back to planet Earth. With the transfer, I ended up losing some credits. Now I’m the old lady on campus.

  “Bring us three of the Zeus burgers too,” Alex adds to our order.

  “You got it, Alex.” Molly grabs the empty bottles from the table and disappears into the crowd.

  “Molly’s a senior. I’ll introduce you sometime when she’s not so busy. Sorry about being all bossy and ordering for you, but trust me. Your taste buds will thank me.”

  “Not just your taste buds,” Nikki adds. “The Zeus burgers will have you comin’ in your pants.” Nikki makes moaning sounds, mimicking Meg Ryan’s restaurant orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally and damn, the girl has some serious acting skills. Thankfully the pub is too noisy for anyone to notice her adept performance.

  “Okay, Nikki. How about we give Trace a couple of days to get used to you before you exhibit all your ho-ish social skills?” Alex quirks a brow.

  “What? Just being honest. I’m in love with those burgers. Although I am sorry about the be-otch thing,” Nikki apologizes. “But really man, those girls are e-vil.” She shakes her shoulders in a shiver, like she’s envisioning Freddy Krueger.

  “Yeah, I don’t know what it is about most figure skaters. Sometimes I think bitchiness is a prerequisite to being good on the ice.” I try to keep my tone from sounding too gloomy, but the memory of how cruel some of my teammates at UDel had been brings back the depressing thoughts of all things Sean.

  “Uh oh. Looks like our girl here has had some shitty experiences with her new teammates.” Nikki shakes her head.

  “No. Not with the team here. I had a problem with a gu…with some of the people on the team at UDel. It’s not worth talking about.”

  “Oh shit. Problems with some asshole. I know the symptoms,” Nikki sneers.

  “It’s the past. No big deal.” Right where I want to keep it, buried deep in the past, never to rear its ugly memory again.

  Molly shows up at our table again and takes six glasses of beer and three burgers with fries from the tray she balanced above the heads of the crowd. My eyes widen at the sight of the pint glasses of beer in front of me. I forgot during happy hour you get two drinks for the price of one.

  As if she could see right into my depressing thoughts, Nikki holds up a glass of beer and shouts, “To new friends and moving on!”

  “To new friends and moving on,” Alex and I say in unison. We lift our glasses and clink them to Nikki’s. We all laugh as the beer from the full glasses spills down our arms. The cheerfulness of the moment wipes away the bitterness of my past.

  “Speaking of moving on with new friends, I’d like to move on some of those gorgeous things right there.” Alex sighs and gazes across the room.

  Nikki follows his gaze. “Yeah. They’re okay I suppose. If you like man-whores.”

  “I happen to loooove manwhores,” Alex sings out and sighs again. “I hope you’re not suggesting the soccer players, either male or female, are any better than the hockey players. I happen to know you can be quite a lady-whore yourself,” he teases Nikki in a playful tone.

  “Fuck you.” Nikki flips him a finger and laughs.

  I turn my head to see who they’re talking about. The crowd parts like the Red Sea and a group of super-hot guys make their way through the room. They’re all wearing t-shirts and jeans. And yes indeedy I can see why Alex is drooling. The way those shirts stretch across broad shoulders and muscled arms, these guys turn plain old t-shirts into works of art. Hockey players. What’s up with this team? Is it a requirement to be hot as fuck to participate?

  “Geech. How do they not melt the ice?”

  “I know, right?” Alex swoons in agreement. Nikki blows out a disgusted eelk sound.

  “Oh puhlease, Nikki. You gotta admit every one of them is a perfect male specimen.”

  “I’ll admit no such thing,” Nikki states and takes another long drag of her beer.

  My mind drifts for a moment as Nikki and Alex argue over the swoon-worthiness of the hockey gods in the pub. I notice the jackass isn’t in the group. Good. I can’t stand the cocky asshole. Then I remember the vision of his long, wet hair and streams of water running down his hard chest and roped six-pack. Mmmm, might be an eight-pack. Just as I’m getting what must be an alcohol induced warm tingling sensation between my legs—because I don’t even like the guy—a deep voice snaps me out of my inappropriate, wide-awake, wet dream.

  “Hey, Nikki. Nice to see you.” One of the tall, gorgeous hockey players is standing next to our table.

  Nikki doesn’t look too happy to see him. “Yeah. Right,” she mumbles and takes a long pull on her beer. Her posture stiffens and her jaw clenches when she puts her glass down.

  “How’s the soccer team this year? Any good new recruits?” The guy runs his hand through his tousled brown hair giving it an even more "I just rolled out of bed and look this hot" appearance. Apparently the guys on this team got the memo. Long, disheveled hair on men is sexy as shit because they’re all rocking it in swoon-worthy fashion.

  “Why? You interested in tapping the fresh meat?” Nikki glares at him through narrowed eyes.

  “What? No. I just…” The guy winces his dreamy bedroom eyes and rubs the back of his neck. He looks from Nikki to me and then to Alex. “Uh…hi,” he chokes out after clearing his throat. “I’m Dalton.” He flicks his chin toward Alex and me while introducing himself.

  Alex stretches out his hand and almost climbs over me to shake Dalton’s hand. “Hi, I’m Alex and this is Tracey. So nice to finally meet you. I see you on the ice all the time.” Alex is grinning and babbling like a smitten fanboy, while still holding onto Dalton’s hand.

  “Oh, you skate? You trying out for the hockey team?” he asks while twisting his hand out of Alex’s grip.

  “No, Dalt,” Nikki pronounces his name like she’s spitting out poisonous venom, “Alex is a figure skater.” It sounds more like a question, like she’s trying to get a reaction from him.

  “Figure skater. No shit? Cool. That takes some crazy ass skating skills. Looking forward to the Winter Fest Show you guys always put on. Oh shit, yeah. I remember you. You did a Gaga routine last year. It was lit, dude.”

  Nikki rolls her eyes and takes another gulp of her beer.

  “You remember my routine?” Alex puts his hand over his heart and blushes.

  “Oh for chrissakes, if you two are done having your little bromance I think your fri
ends are looking for you,” Nikki practically growls at Dalton.

  “Just came over to say hi, Nikki.” He gives her a sheepish look. It’s astonishing how such a petite girl can topple the spirit of the massive athlete like a fallen Redwood. “You coming to the party tonight?”

  “There’s a party already on the first Friday?” Alex nearly jumps out of his seat in excitement.

  “Yeah, sure. You guys are welcome to come if you want. Everyone’s invited. You should bring your friends, Nikki.” He’s staring at her like she’s his Zeus burger.

  “Right. Byeee.” She waves him off without looking at him.

  “Okay then.” Dalton shrugs. “Anyway, hope to see you guys tonight. Nice meeting you.” He never takes his eyes off Nikki before making his way through the crowd back to his friends.

  “OMG, Nikki! Why were you such a bitch to him? He’s spectacular and he’s totally into you. You should be jumping all over that. I would be if he were playing for my team. What’s up with you?” Once again Alex is squirming in his seat, but this time it’s like he wants to jump across the table and shake some sense into Nikki.

  “He’s a dick. I hate him. He thinks he’s all that. And for the record, he’s into pretty much anything with a vagina.” Nikki shrugs like she couldn’t care less, but her eyes glaze over, giving away her true feelings.

  “Well he is all that and more,” Alex states with enthusiasm, not noticing the hint of tears in Nikki’s eyes. “Unfortunately, the V-jay rule seems to go for most of the hotties on the team.” Alex pouts and takes a swallow of beer. “But you hate him? Sounds a little harsh. I knew you hooked up with him a couple of times, but it was before we were friends. What happened? What did he do?”